“No!” he said, through his gritted white teeth.
Why not?
Hettie was struck dumb and unable to act by the shock of this new, ferocious Starr. Totally limp, she allowed him to lift her, almost throw her across the narrow Spartan bed and strip away the flimsy bottoms of her bikini. Opening her thighs, she finally gained a hold of her senses and reached for him. Her sex flexed and fluttered, almost convulsing already at the thought of having him in her.
But Starr shocked her again. With a sudden animal grace, he sank to his knees between her spread thighs, pressing them even further apart with his long, golden hands.
“Oh no!” cried Hettie, comprehending instantly what he was about to do.
No! He was going to use his marvelous mouth on her to distract her. Divert her from her course and silence her questions and her desire for the truth. And with his face between her thighs, he could hide his eyes and whatever emotion they contained from her searching gaze.
“No!” she insisted again, “This isn’t my choice! I want to—”
Starr lifted his face for just a moment and his steely regard silenced her. His sensuous mouth was a thin, determined line. A slash of real anger. Of command.
“I can and I will,” he said, the controlled voice at odds with the blazing eyes, “This— This is my choice!”
Then, leaning forward, he buried his face between her thighs.
Hettie let out a high keening cry, almost jackknifing up off the bed as Starr went straight for her clitoris, sucking hard on the tiny nub of flesh to extract the maximum response in the minimum amount of time. An almost painful spasm wrenched at her cunt, sending her into thrashing paroxysms of mindless pleasure, all thought of Darryl, of Piers, of the existence of any other man on the face of the earth totally banished.
She was still coming, still squirming and struggling, when Starr changed his tack and began to lap and lave at her entire pussy. His long warm tongue swept over her folds, stroking up and down from her clitoris to her anus, before diving inside her. Furled, it was as solid and potent as a cock and fucked her just as hard. Hettie shouted incoherently, coming again and rising to a new height of sensation that was almost overwhelming.
A moment later, he swirled his tongue again and went back to licking wickedly at the very nexus of her pleasure, and the levels ramped up to a pitch that she simply couldn’t cope with…
Still moaning his name, she gave up trying and all went black.
Hettie!
Starr’s cry was as silent as it was agonized. Almost staggering to his feet, he stared down at her—the object of his adoration spread out and vulnerable before him on his own bed.
He pressed a hand to his mouth. To the taste of her there, the most sublime nectar, the taste of life. Turbulent emotions racked him, twisting his gut and his heart. For a moment he imagined her with Darryl as she’d described, and he almost wanted to die from the excruciating pain of it!
He loved her with all his heart, yet he could never claim her love for himself.
She still loved her husband.
She was rare, special and precious and he was nothing.
Well, not nothing, but someone who had escaped from a life at the bottom of the pond of crime and corruption by just the skin of his teeth. And through the gracious kindness of a man he would never, ever have been able to repay, even if he still lived.
Hettie, for all her natural friendliness and her unaffected ways, was an aristocratic woman who had married an aristocratic man. Starr had come from the gutter, dragged up barely knowing the parents who couldn’t have given damn about him and to whom stealing and worse were normal, everyday activities. The difference between his background and that of the exquisite woman sprawled before him should not have mattered in a modern egalitarian society. But it did to him. And he could never ever tell her…
But suddenly, as he looked down on her, a realization out of nowhere almost unmanned him. It was like a kick in the gut and he actually gasped.
You’re a coward, man, aren’t you? A stupid coward. You hide behind the class thing. Behind duty… Behind Piers Miller… Because you’re afraid that she’ll reject you if you tell her how you really feel.
He closed his eyes for a second, a strong grown man, erect and dominant. Yet at the same time he felt the reeling uncertainty of adolescence and first love, and the fear of being found wanting by the object of his adoration.
But still he ached like the very devil for her. His cock was like iron, a heavy, dragging bar of torment. And her splayed legs invited him to plunge between them and assuage the pain of a need that threatened to bend him double. She was there in front of him, her moist pink cunt pouting and open. How simple it would be just to tear off his shorts and plunge his burning rod into her. He’d be finished in moments, so intensely did he want her. And with his strength, and her relative fragility, there was no way on earth she could stop him.
Do it! Have her! Fuck her! some inner demon raged at him. It even drove him to slip down his shorts and cradle his trigger-happy cock.
But he couldn’t. To take his beloved now would be to betray everything he felt about her. Every trust that both she and her dead husband had put in him. He bit his lower lip, holding in his heartfelt moan of need and love.
Somehow though, he must have release and he must have it with her. Staring down at the crimson gleam of her exposed pussy, he narrowed his eyes. So wet. Wet with his saliva and with her satin lubrication. Somehow he had to join with her, to blend himself with her. Make them the two of them one without descending to the baseness of possessing her unconscious body…
“Oh Hettie, I love you” he whispered, transfixed by her and ensorcelled by her. Slowly at first, then quickly, he began to pump his penis with his hand, gritting his teeth at the pleasure-pain. Then, he ravaged his lip again as the sensations soared and his come powered up as if from the very depths of his soul and jetted in tribute towards his lady.
Tasting blood in his mouth and bittersweet ecstasy in his cock, he watched his pearly seed splash against the beautiful folds of his beloved’s perfect cunt.
What happened? What did he do to me? Did he touch me?
The questions rolled over and over in Hettie’s brain as she pressed the soft, fluffy towel between her legs and patted herself dry. She’d been asking them ever since she’d woken up alone and lying on her own bed—when the last thing she’d remembered was passing out from pleasure while Starr was giving her head.
He must have carried me back here.
She looked around the bathroom, thinking of her awakening in the room beyond. A light day blanket had been tenderly draped across her, and on the bedside table, someone—Starr, obviously—had left a tall glass of chilled, homemade lemonade and a plate of grapes, cherries and other fruit neatly sliced and arranged.
I don’t deserve him. She blotted her welling eyes quickly before applying some moisturizer. I make demands. I shout at him. I throw a tantrum because I want more than duty allows him to give. And still he cherishes me and treats me like a princess. Even the bath she’d just enjoyed had been drawn and scented with her favorite fragrance ready for her.
If only I could remember what happened!
Did he fuck me? She asked the question, but knew the answer. Starr had been hard as iron, primed and ready, but no way would he have just taken her like that. It just wasn’t in his nature. It would violate his code of behavior and everything he stood for.
And yet… She’d felt so sticky and slick between her legs. And when she’d tentatively put a finger to her crotch then tasted it, she could almost have imagined it was semen.
But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.
“About time!” said a familiar voice as Hettie strolled through to her bedroom, wrapped in the big bath towel.
“Stevie!”
The good doctor was reclining elegantly on Hettie’s bed, looking as quirkily stylish as ever in a pair of white cricket trousers and a matching white cotton shirt that looke
d superb over her unfettered breasts.
“You were in the bathroom a long time,” Stevie observed, her eyes twinkling. Levering herself to a sitting position, she tossed aside the magazine she’d been reading. “I’m surprised that you need to masturbate after spending time with the admirable Mr. Starr.” Her heavily mascara-darkened lashes flicked down and up, just once.
“I wasn’t masturbating! And nothing went on with Starr,” Hettie lied, “I haven’t even seen him since—since before you arrived.”
Stevie’s fine eyes narrowed. “So what were you doing? Just thinking?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
Hettie walked across to her dressing table and sat down to apply a bit more moisturizer to her face. Concentrating fixedly on her reflection, it was easier to evade Stevie’s scrutiny.
“Hettie! What’s wrong?” Stevie was behind her now with arms crossed, her gaze locking with Hettie’s in the mirror.
Hettie screwed the top on her lotion bottle, then reached for a comb to de-tangle her damp hair. She could see Stevie was waiting patiently for an answer, but it was difficult to supply one. She didn’t really have any answers for herself. She didn’t even know what half the questions were.
“I-I was thinking about Starr, who else?”
“Oh Hettie,” Stevie’s hands were on Hettie’s bare shoulders now, slowly massaging. “You mustn’t worry… Things have a way of working themselves out. You and Starr are crazy about each other. It’s just a matter of time.” The doctor’s long hands stilled, and she grinned at Hettie in the mirror, “And you needn’t worry about looking after Darryl now, either…” Her eyelid drooped in a sly wink.
Hettie found herself relaxing, and she grinned back. She decided not to query the doctor’s reference to people “being crazy about each other” but instead she said, “Oh, so you’ve taken over his education then, have you? Care to tell me what happened between you after I came inside?”
“Oh, just a little hands-on practical work…” Stevie smiled enigmatically, “Role-playing…exercises…you know.”
Hettie shook her head. “I hardly dare ask.” She smiled at her friend in the mirror.
“Darryl’s a sweet man,” Stevie said more seriously, “I think he’s going to be all right.” Her gentle fingers worked teasingly on Hettie’s shoulders. “And he really likes sex. Almost as much as you do.”
“So… Very hands-on then?” It was Hettie’s turn to wink back at Stevie, who looked inordinately pleased with herself.
“Very,” the doctor confirmed, with a very cat-who-got-the-cream grin. She glanced towards the dress and underclothes that Hettie had set out on a chair ready to put on. “Put some clothes on that luscious body of yours and stop making me think about sex! It’s time for dinner.”
Hettie dressed quickly, feeling a little self-conscious, even though Stevie was making a big point of being engrossed in her magazine. She slid into black silk high cut panties and shapely underwire bra, then a matching skimpily styled garter belt and sheer black stockings.
“What’re you trying to do? Make all of us come at the dining table? Even Mister Iceman?” Stevie inquired, finally looking up and checking Hettie out. She obviously approved of the short slim-cut shift dress of black velvet, and the sexy, narrow-heeled court shoes that went with it.
“I just want to look nice,” Hettie replied pertly, fluffing out her hair a bit more then stepping back to the dressing table to apply makeup. “Just because I’m a widow it doesn’t mean I can let myself go to seed!”
“You look wonderful, sweetheart,” said Stevie, more softly. “Piers would be very proud of you. Very proud indeed.”
“Thanks.” Hettie suddenly felt tearful, but fought it down. “I just wish I could be certain that he’d approve of how I feel about Starr. Or how I think I feel…” She gestured vaguely, hoping Stevie would understand what she meant. “I’m still not even sure myself. He makes things so difficult!”
“Piers would approve, Hettie. I know it. You know it. He wanted you and Starr to get together. He might not have said it overtly to either of you, but it was always his plan. Now, shall we go down and get some dinner? I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve him, you fortunate woman, but that fabulous blond god of yours seems to be a amazing cook on top of everything else!”
Starr had managed an ingenious compromise with their evening meal. In spite of what he’d said earlier, Hettie had still been determined to try and persuade him to eat with them here at Dragonwood. Even if he still insisted on standing on ceremony when they were in London.
Starr’s instinctive answer to her dilemma was a barbecue—served on the terrace—which meant he could busy himself cooking, then take his own meal discreetly. Be with them but in his own way still on duty.
Hettie cornered him, standing apart from them, leaning on the terrace’s wide stone parapet sipping a glass of mineral water and looking out intently across the parkland and the roseate sunset beyond.
“Look. About this afternoon. I’m sorry I slapped you,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was uncalled for.”
It certainly was.
She stared at him. Starr was everything that a strong man should be. Tall, straight and golden, so dramatic in his vestments of darkness. He too, had always worn black since Piers’ death. He served her perfectly and what had she done? Taunted him. Insulted him. Slapped him instead of having the courage to sit down and tell him her feelings like a grown up, civilized woman.
“Think no more about it, Ma’am,” he replied, for once not meeting her eyes but still staring in the direction of a small woodland copse through which wound a slowly flowing river. “My own behavior was hardly exemplary. It’s my place to apologize, not yours. I hope you’ll overlook it, and we can forget it ever happened.”
“But—”
Starr forestalled her. “Your guests, Ma’am,” he said, nodding lightly towards where both Stevie and Darryl were peering curiously in their direction.
Hettie took the bull by the horns. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Be apart.” She so wanted to touch him, to place her hand on his strong, dark-clad arm. But she was intensely aware of the scrutiny of the others. For her part she didn’t care that they were looking, but she knew that Starr would hate any “fuss” in front of her guests. “Just because Darryl and Stevie are here, you don’t have to be out of the way all the time. I- I—”
How could she put it? She knew she couldn’t use the word “love” right at this moment, because if she did, she would probably lose her composure altogether. And that would cause a scene. For which Starr would blame himself. And that would make matters worse.
But she had to say something!
“I want you around, Starr! I want your company. And not just— Oh, I don’t know,” she blurted out in exasperation, wishing he’d look her in the eye. Longing for him to give her some sign of affection rather than duty.
“I don’t want to get in the way, Ma’am.” His voice was cool and measured.
“But you don’t get in the way! How could you possibly get in the way?” she cried angrily, forgetting her resolution of just a moment ago. Her blood was up now and her heart was full of confused emotions. “This thing of ours… Is that all it is to you? A duty? A service you perform? Don’t you want me for myself at all?” Across the terrace, Darryl and Stevie were murmuring to each other but Hettie could tell that they were still watching her closely as they sat knee to knee in a pair of garden chairs.
There was a long moment of silence. Hettie felt stunned by her own outburst and numbed to a state of inertia as she leant on the parapet, grateful for its support. The scent of flowers drifted up from the beds below and yet their perfume seemed to be coming from an entirely different world.
At long last Starr answered her, his cool eyes burning suddenly as he turned to her. Blue fire of almost unimaginable heat. “It is my privilege to serve you, Milady. My privilege and my joy… More than I can adequatel
y describe.” His voice was low and in a rare, revealing moment, reminiscent of the one in his bedroom, Hettie detected a tremor of real emotion.
He does care! Jubilant, she wanted to hug him and kiss him but knowing he wouldn’t welcome it—especially with their companions still watching curiously, their own conversation temporarily forgotten.
Once again, she’d finally broken through to the unflappable, unfazable Starr and the thrill of it gave Hettie back her strength and purpose. He cared for her. He wanted her. Perhaps even loved her. But some bone-deep, archaic streak of chivalry was still preventing him from declaring it. She would have to make the moves from now on!
But not right at this moment.
The evening went very smoothly after that considering that everyone—Starr included—was obviously tired. Hardly surprising in Darryl’s case, thought Hettie with a grin, enjoying a glass of excellent wine as she eyed Stevie’s handsome “pupil”.
You and Stevie made love this afternoon, didn’t you? Her smile widened and she took another sip of wine to hide it.
It was crystal clear that something had changed with Darryl. There was a twinkle in his eyes all the time, in spite of his occasional yawns, and a new and quite blood-stirring sensuality to his every movement. Put in its simplest terms, when they’d left London this morning he’d still been sexually unsure of himself…and now he knew exactly what he was doing. He’d always had that uncanny sense of poise about him, but now he was flirting with Stevie like an experienced ladies’ man and parrying her sexual sophistication with an effortless charm and playfulness.
While Starr had been plying them all with perfectly grilled steaks and succulent deviled chicken breasts, Stevie had slipped away briefly and come back with goodies of her own. Volumes of erotica she’d plundered from Dragonwood’s library—which was even more extensively stocked with titillating literature than the one at Pengilley Gardens was. And now the doctor and Darryl were studying the books together and laughing and joking as they turned the provocative pages.
Lessons and Lovers Page 11